


Interrogation

by goingtoalaska



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingtoalaska/pseuds/goingtoalaska
Summary: Of course Dirk has some extremely important questions that can only be asked in the middle of the goddamn night, obviously.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Допрос](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200426) by [Baefrances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baefrances/pseuds/Baefrances)



> take a break from being the kind of writer who writes exclusively dialogue by writing fanfic that is almost exclusively dialogue, absolutely brilliant

“Would you still be my friend if I just constantly screamed, all the time?”

Todd's eyes slide open, taking in a sky full of stars and the edges of their dubiously acquired Jeep. He's spread out across the back seat – Dirk had claimed the passenger seat in the front, insisting that there was better leg room to be had. The air is cool and the night is quiet and Todd has a strong feeling that he isn't going to be getting any sleep. 

“Like, everything was exactly the same, but I just screamed, all the time. Almost nonstop."

Todd considers this for a moment. “Probably not.” He pulls the blanket up around his chest and turns over, trying to find the comfortable place he could have sworn he was in a moment ago. But Dirk isn't finished.

“Would you still be my friend if I had an alligator instead of a hand?”

“Dirk, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Okay. Okay. This one is serious. Your right hand is replaced by a banana, or, _or_ , you're constantly being followed by a tractor. Very slowly. You can get away from it, but it will always be – very slowly coming after you.” 

“What?”

“You have to chose one.”

“So I lose my hand, or someone's trying to - “

“You don't lose it. It's a banana.”

“Doesn't it rot off?”

“It refreshes every day.” 

“Can I eat the banana?”

Dirk considers this. “Yes. But that's disgusting.”

“Why is it disgusting? It's a banana, isn't it?”

“It's your _hand._ ” 

“Does it hurt?” 

A pause. “No. But it feels pretty weird. Like surgery when you're awake.”

Todd wonders what kind of surgery Dirk's had, and why he was awake for it, but it's not that kind of conversation.

“I still take the banana. I don't want to be followed.” 

“Fair enough. Okay. Either nobody can ever remember what you look like, _or_ , everyone thinks you're terribly ugly.” 

“I choose neither.”

“If you choose neither you get both,” Dirk says flatly. 

“Fine. Fine. Nobody can remember what I look like? Even my friends and family?”

“Nobody ever recognizes you.”

“Even if I wear the same hat every day?”

“No hats. If you try to get an iconic hat going, you just lose the hat.” 

“Then I become a bank robber.”

“If you try to use your curse as a blessing, a shark bites you. I can't believe you wouldn't be my friend if I screamed all the time.”

“It would be difficult to get to know you.”

“I could scream facts and trivia about myself. You don't know what I'd be screaming.”

“I don't like being screamed at.”

“Your ears would adjust.”

“Maybe.”

“Would you still be my friend if everything else was the same but I never ate with a knife and fork? So every time we went to a restaurant I just – threw aside the cutlery and dug in with my fingers.”

“I'd make you order nothing but pizza and chips.”

“I would somehow always end up with saucy pasta or chunky soup.”

“Gross.”

“And I'd wear white shirts all the time and they'd be covered in stains. Would you be my friend?”

“Maybe. It depends how often we ate out.”

“Okay. Would you be my friend -”

“Jesus, Dirk, how many of these do you have?”

“- if I barked at every dog we saw?”

“You _do_ bark at every dog we see.”

“Not _every_ dog.”

“That labrador in town looked like it wanted to chase us all the way out here.”

“Would you be my friend if I had four tongues?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't tell you _where._ ”

“Please don't.”

“Would you still be my friend if I was covered in fur?”

“Yes.”

“Would you be my friend if I was gay?”

Todd blinked. “What? Of course I would.”

“Would you be my friend if, instead of saying 'hello' to people, I slapped them on the -”

“Dirk, do you think I wouldn't be your friend if you were gay?”

“It's a hypothetical, Todd.” 

“Okay.” Todd hesitates, considers pressing it, gives up. “Slapped them on the what?”

“Just slapped them, somewhere on their body. At random.”

“Could I get you to just – stop greeting people?”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

“Well?”

“I'd still be your friend. But I wouldn't introduce you to any of my friends.”

“I know all your friends already,” Dirk scoffs. 

“Unkind. I might have more friends. Friends from work.”

“I am your only friend from work.”

“You and the kitten.”

“And Farah.” A distinct Tone creeps into Dirk's voice – it's eerily like the tone that comes into Amanda's voice whenever he so much as looks at anyone attractive. Todd absolutely hates that tone on Amanda, and he's not much fonder of it from Dirk. “She's sort of like a work friend.”

“I mean from the hotel, but -”

“Farah's pretty cool, isn't she? With her – guns, and her cool jacket, and her general – coolness.” If Dirk tries any harder to sound nonchalant he's going to have an aneurysm. 

“I guess.” 

“I bet her boyfriend thinks she's, just, the best.”

“She has a boyfriend?” 

“I don't think so. Why do you ask, Todd? Why are you so interested in whether Farah's single?”

Todd opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. “Very clever, Dirk.”

“I am, aren't I?” Todd can hear the smug grin in his voice. “Well?”

“I'm not interested. Much to my sister's dismay.”

“Oh. Okay. Well. You two seemed, you know. Interested.” And he's trying to hide it, but there's definitely a note of relief in his voice.

Todd sits up. “Dirk Gently, I think you have a crush.”

Dirk jerks around as though he's been electrocuted, a look of abject panic in his eyes. His hair is dishevelled from trying to sleep sitting upright and he looks a mess and Todd can't help but grin, even though he knows he probably looks just as bad. 

“What? Me? Crush? No. What – and more to the point, who – and how – and what does that – and what -” 

“It's okay. Honestly, I'm not into Farah. And I don't think she's into me, whatever Amanda says about jackets.” 

“Farah?” The mad look hasn't left Dirk's eyes. Several fairly significant puzzle pieces fall into place somewhere in the back of Todd's mind. He fakes a long and dramatic yawn to scrub the look of realization off his face.

“You should ask her out sometime,” he says in as casual a tone as he can muster. Dirk's still staring at him – he's pretending not to notice, heartbeat pounding wildly in his ribcage, breath too slow in his throat. “Okay, so, you either live in a house made of chocolate, or a house made of raw meat.”

“That's disgusting.” Dirk hesitates. “Chocolate.”

“Good choice.” 

“You forget how to walk, or you forget how to speak English.” 

“Can I still read it?”

“No.”

“Forget how to walk. All your friends believe you did something bad that you didn't do, or all your friends won't believe you did something good that you actually did?”

“The second one.”

“Why?”

“Because then I did something good.” Dirk closes his eyes. “That was a serious one. They're not meant to be serious.”

“Chocolate houses are very serious.” Todd hesitates. “Would you still be my friend if I - “

“Yes.”

“I didn't even say anything.”

“I know.” Dirk smiles. “Would you still be my friend if I kept secrets from you?”

“Depends on the secrets.”

“If I couldn't even tell you what the secrets were, or even confirm or deny that there were secrets at all.” 

“I don't know.” Dirk looks crestfallen, and Todd relents. “Probably.” 

Dirk peers intently around the back of the chair at him. “Would you still be my friend if I – did something – ill-advised?”

“You've done nothing but ill-advised things for the entirety of our friendship, Dirk. I don't know what I'd do if you did something _well_ -advised.”

“That was rude. Something – embarrassing, then.”

“We've had a fair bit of that too.”

“Todd.” The game feels different with eye contact - Dirk's still staring at him around the headrest of the car, his long fingers gripping the seat. 

“Yes. I would.”

“Even if it was awkward. Even if it made things – sort of uncomfortable, between us, for a while. Maybe forever, I don't know.”

“Dirk. I said yes.”

There's a silence that stretches so long Todd wonders if Dirk's managed to fall asleep with his eyes open. He feels like he's not breathing – that strange, intimate sense of suspension that comes with being in a car in the middle of the night with someone else. Awake, together, the rest of the world at arm's length. 

“Dirk?”

“Shh.”

“What?”

“I am trying to muster up the courage to – well, never you mind what.”

“Kiss me?”

“What?”

“Kiss me. Is that what you're trying to muster up the courage to do?”

“No,” Dirk says, then instantly: “Yes. How did you know?”

Because you're about as subtle as a stampeding rhino, Todd thinks to himself. Because you've all but told me you've got a crush on me. Because you've been staring at my lips for the last ten minutes. But instead of any of that: “Detective work.” 

“Ah. Well. Good. Good for you. Coming along well, my – my young – assistant.”

There's another silence. Dirk is staring beyond the back of the car and into the inky depths of the night, his face flickering with whatever demented stream-of-consciousness he's drowning in. Todd waits, politely. 

“How's it going?” he asks, eventually. “The mustering.” 

“Not particularly well.”

“Maybe you should come into the back seat.”

“Right. Yes.” Awkwardly, he gathers his limbs together and begins to climb into the back seat. Somehow, this puts him through several circus-level contortions and a few high-adrenalin moments where it seems that he'll fall, somehow, out of the car. Eventually, he's seated next to Todd, breathing hard and staring straight ahead.

“I meant you could just – open the doors.”

“I didn't want my feet to touch the wet grass.” 

“Fair enough.”

A long silence. “Okay, so, you either have to wear a horrendously itchy Christmas jumper for the rest of your life, or -”

In one exasperated motion, Todd turns and kisses Dirk with enough force to finally, blessedly, stop him from talking.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Vietnamese translation] Interrogation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287278) by [higherthan_ (all_their_intricacies)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_their_intricacies/pseuds/higherthan_)
  * [[Podfic] Interrogation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212711) by [Dr_Fumbles_McStupid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Fumbles_McStupid/pseuds/Dr_Fumbles_McStupid), [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton)




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